


Little Dís likes Thranduil

by ChibiMethos



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-03
Updated: 2014-08-03
Packaged: 2018-02-11 14:41:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2072127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChibiMethos/pseuds/ChibiMethos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Little Dís has never seen elves or Men before, and develops a crush on the King of the Woodland Realm when she is finally introduced.</p><p>Just a little piece that opens with child Princess Dís, in pre-Smaug Erebor, and ends somewhat ambiguously, several years after the events of 'My Lady Dís,' but before the new story I'm working on.</p><p>***</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little Dís likes Thranduil

          The five-year-old Princess Royal of Erebor, Dís, of the House of Durin, was quivering with impatience as her maid straightened the back of the high collar on her formal dress. The tiny child was to attend her first State Dinner and ball, and the Lord of Dale and the King of the Woodland Realm were to be guests as well. Dís had never yet seen a Man or an Elf. She was nervous about what they might look or be like, but she was determined to be on her best behaviour.

            “There, all finished.” The maid stepped back and Dís tried not to run as she moved to the mirror to see how she looked.

               Her floor length dress was peach, with vertical pink stripes, and leaf-like pale green spirals winding over each stripe. Leaves and delicate looking flowers spread out from each leaf on their own thin vines. The sleeves of the gown were solid peach, with decorative laces on the inside of the sleeve. The cuffs and waist trim were salmon pink — nearly pale orange in some light — and the fairly low, square neckline was trimmed with white lace. Behind her head rose a fan shaped ruff of handmade, nearly transparent lace.

               Around her throat was a single strand of pearls that perfectly matched the drop shaped pearl earrings she wore. Dís sighed happily and poked her foot out from under the skirt to see the light pink kitten heels she had on. Her dark hair was curled into long corkscrew curls and held back out of her face with long pearl pins.

                The door to the dressing room opened, and the Crown Princess, her mother, came in. She smiled when she saw that Dís was ready.

                “Oh, Dís, you look so pretty!”

                Dís smiled at her mother. “So do you, Mama.”

               The Crown Princess was wearing a chocolate brown velvet gown, with a squared necked, cream brocade bodice, and double puffed sleeves, trimmed with hand sewn pearls and diamonds. The sleeves were criss-crossed with gold ribbon to form a lattice pattern. Her hair, like her daughter's was dark and she had it pulled back and covered with a half-moon shaped headdress. A short lace veil trailed from the back, covering her hair. A long string of pearls, tied to keep it from dragging the floor, hung around her neck, and small diamond earrings completed her _toilette._

               The Crown Princess kissed her daughter on the head as the maid withdrew. The two dwarrow stood together in the mirror for a moment, then Dís turned to face her mother.

               “Mama, what do Elves and Men look like?” Dís asked. “I'm really nervous about seeing them.”

               The Crown Princess smiled. “They are taller than we are,” she told the child. “Men are similar to us, in that the males have beards, but the ladies do not.”

               Dís' eyebrow rose at this news. Her mother's beard wasn't long, but she had it neatly styled and trimmed with small beads.

               “Elves,” her mother continued. “Have very delicate looking features, and sometimes, it is difficult to differentiate between their males and females.”

                Dís nodded. “That doesn't sound so bad.”

                Her mother nodded and took Dís' hand. “Come, let us go and show Papa and _Udad_ how pretty you look.”

                Together, they went down to the reception room where Dís was pleased to see her father, Crown Prince Thrain and her brothers — the Heir Presumptive, Thorin, and her younger brother, Prince Frerin—were already there. She and her mother stepped into the room and the three males stopped talking. Thrain smiled at his wife and daughter.

              “The two of you look wonderful,” he told them. “But this cannot be my little Dís. You look so grown up.”

               Dís was happy to be fussed over until her grandfather, King Thror arrived. He nodded to his daughter-in-law and gave Dís an affectionate pat on the head. The family settled around the room just as their dinner guests began arriving. Dís tried to mask her shock at the magnitude of difference in the height of their guests. Truly, they looked huge to her.

             She was also surprised to see that the Lord of Dale had brought a small person with him. He took the little person and brought him over to Dís.

             “Princess Dís, I would like you to meet my son.”

             The boy nodded. “How do you do, Princess. I'm Riston.”

             Dís offered him a smile. “I'm Dís.”

             Riston sat beside her and they started talking. Dís studied the boy, and decided that she liked his sandy brown hair and kind, green eyes. His blue and silver trimmed tunic was well made, but understated, like all the clothes the Men were wearing. Lord Girion's wife and the ladies that accompanied her were the only ones of the party wearing jewellery or elaborate hairstyles. Dís wondered why that was, but didn't ask.

            “I've never been inside a mountain before,” Riston told Dís. “It's quite nice in here.”

             Dís grinned. “I've never yet been allowed outside,” she told him. “What's it like?”

             The Crown Princess was pleased to see that the two children were getting along, since they were seat partners for dinner. Lord Girion sat with King Thror and they talked about hunting for a few minutes, while his wife took a place beside the Crown Princess. The ladies were admiring each other's offspring when the door was opened again and the elves arrived. The children stopped talking to stare at the Elf-king and his son. Thranduil was polite, but distant and Legolas didn't talk at all.

             Finally, the Crown Princess rose and led the party into the dining room. Seated near the end of the high table, Dís and Riston were positioned in such a way that Dís could still stare at the Elf-king and his son without being totally rude. Riston noted Dís' fascination with the elf guests and smiled.

              “King Thranduil and his son are very old,” he told Dís in a low voice. She looked startled and glanced at her grandfather. Riston nodded. “Yes, even older than King Thror. Father has me studying the kings and rulers of the First and Second Age. I was rather surprised myself, but Father says elves live forever.”

             “Wow!” Dís breathed, properly impressed. “And his queen?”

              Riston shook his head. “No, do not ask about her. She passed away while your people were still living in Khazad-dûm and mine were still petty farmers and foot soldiers in the service of the High Elves.”

             Dís nodded. That was a very long time ago indeed. She looked at Thranduil again. “But . . . if they live forever, how could she die?”

             Riston sighed. “I believe she was assaulted by orcs,” he told her. “No more questions.”

             Dís was shocked and saddened by this news, and turned to look again at the blond king, who was talking to her grandfather. “How sad he must be,” she said. “Even if it was long ago.”

            Riston laughed and began asking Dís about her favourite games, which distracted her long enough to get through dinner. When the meal was finished, the group repaired to the ball room, where the rest of the guests that had not had the honour of attending dinner were received. When the room was full, Dís and Riston sat to watch the adults take to the floor. She was enchanted and happy to watch the colourfully clad dwarrow spinning about the room like bright flowers sailing through the breeze.

           After a while, Riston rose and pulled Dís to the side, nearly out of sight of the adults, and they danced with each other. Lord Girion noticed and so did the Crown Princess. They shared an indulgent smile and pretended they had not seen them when the children returned. Dís now hovered near the edges of the ball room, looking for the Elf-king.

           He and his son were not hard to find amongst such short dancers. They were on the other side of the room, watching the dancers. Thranduil looked bored, but Legolas looked totally disgusted. King Thror was making his way towards them, his daughter-in-law in tow. They spoke to the elves for a few minutes, then Thranduil offered the Crown Princess his arm and allowed her to take him about the room, introducing him to several of the dwarrowdams that were not dancing. Thranduil shot his son a speaking glance and Legolas schooled his face to blankness while he was introduced. The elf prince was soon dancing with a dwarrowdam and Thranduil was dancing with the Lady of Dale.

          Dís was delighted with everything, but she soon felt herself growing sleepy. She returned to her seat and tried to fight it off, but when she felt herself being lifted, she knew she had failed.

          “Not tired, Mama,” she protested feebly as she was born away.

          “Shhh. Sleep.” Dís relaxed and succumbed to sleep, ending her first State Dinner and ball.

 

***

 

          Thror laughed quietly as Dís was taken away to bed. Thranduil, once again standing near him, managed a smile as well.

          “She did well; it is nearly midnight,” Thranduil commented.

          Thror nodded. “She'll be embarrassed about it tomorrow, of course. Thorin and Frerin will tease her endlessly.”

          “Oh, that's too bad. She behaved quite well.” Thranduil glanced at Legolas, who was dancing with the Crown Princess.

          Thror followed his gaze. “When is that son of yours ever going to marry?”

          Thranduil shrugged. “I know not. Perhaps never. I had no such plans before the crown fell to me, though my father had already arranged it. I see no reason to push him.”

           Thror looked thoughtful. “I had considered an alliance with Dale, but Men are so short-lived.”

           Thranduil nodded. “Indeed. Such a plan would need to be set for four generations hence, and there is no guarantee that the child would be the correct sex.”

          “Exactly,” Thror agreed. “But I know our times must seem equally short to you as well.”

          Thranduil kept his face placidly blank, even as he mentally recoiled from the thought of his son marrying Thror's granddaughter. He supposed the child was cute enough, but that could be said for nearly every child of every Race. They all started out cute so that their parents would love them, and would be less likely to notice, as they matured, if they lost their looks, or they never developed at all. He eyed the Crown Princess speculatively.

          She was averaged size for a dwarf—in both directions. Her beard was of a moderate length and her blue eyes spoke to her good nature. She was a handsome woman, with the short, round features that had named her a celebrated beauty among her own people. Thranduil knew there was no-way to determine what Princess Dís would look like as an adult, though her older brothers more favoured their rather human looking grandmother, whom Thranduil had only seen face to face twice before she died.

          “That is true,” Thranduil agreed now, glancing at his son. “But it is longer than Men. And she is yet but an infant.”

           Thror nodded. “There is of course, no rush.”

          “No,” Thranduil agreed. “None at all.” He wondered what he could do to distract Thror from this plan, then just decided to simply ignore it. The girl would grow, and as he knew dwarrowdams chose their husbands, not the other way around, the child would have her say when she was an adult, if something else didn't come along and distract her grandfather in the mean time. Dís would not be old enough to wed for another ninety-five years.

         Anything could happen in that amount of time.

 

***

 

[TWO YEARS LATER]:

 

         “Father, must I accompany you?” Legolas followed his father through the halls of the palace towards the throne room.

         He knew he was well past the age when such whining could be attributed to his youth and dismissed, but he couldn't help it. Every time his father went to Erebor, King Thror would parade his young granddaughter before them, and Legolas found that he was expected to entertain the infant—a situation that pleased neither of them. He, because he could not abide dwarves, and she, because she found his father far more fascinating.

        Thranduil smirked at his son's tone and looked up from the paperwork he had been skimming. “Of course you do. It would be rude in the extreme to leave the little princess without a companion.”

        Legolas groaned loudly and one of the House Guards, Tauriel, focused on a far pillar in order to keep a straight face.

        Thranduil shook his head at his son. “Legolas, please. She is but a child. All you have to do is ask about her latest scribble or allow her to practice speaking Sindarin with you. It is nothing.”

       “So speaks the hero,” Legolas muttered. “Actually, Father, she prefers to ask a thousand and one questions about _you_.”

        One thick, dark eyebrow rose at this. “Really?” His son nodded.

        “She has nothing but praise and fascination for you. It's actually quite disturbing.”

         Thranduil swallowed a laugh. “Well, you don't seem to care for her anyway, so I don't see why.”

         “Because it's unnatural! The infant is but seven years old! Yet the look in her eyes when she speaks of you is that of a woman full grown. And I cannot _bear_ to see you—”

          Thranduil laughed. “See me what? She is just a child, as you say. All girls go through such a stage. When they are very small, they fixate—quite harmlessly—on their father or an older brother, or some other older male authority figure. They fancy they are in love, but after a while, other things come along to distract them and all is forgot.”

         Legolas still looked unsure. “But Father—”

         “Legolas, please. Surely, you cannot think that I am unaware of her fascination?”

          Legolas shuddered but said no more. When they arrived at Erebor, he saw the child peeking at them from behind the feet of the statues in the Gallery of the Kings. Legolas was prepared to ignore her and walk past, but Thranduil stopped and looked directly at her.

         “Princess Dís, I am sure you were not raised to peep at people. Come here, and make your bows.”

          Flushing, the child crept out from her hiding place. Legolas was surprised to see that she was wearing a court gown and that her hair was styled with precious stones and tiny intricate braids. The gown was long, with a high waist and a long skirt that gave it an almost elfish look. Thranduil's eyebrow rose when he saw what she was wearing.

          Dís crept forward and offered the elf a low curtsey. “Welcome to Erebor,” she said in Sindarin, her high, small voice adding a lilt to the words. “The sun shines on our meeting.”

          Legolas gaped at her, but his father inclined his head. “Hail and well met, Princess Dís.” He passed her by and Dís stared after him, her tiny face lit with pleasure.

          Legolas shook his head. “You should not encourage her, Father.”

          “One can hardly call returning a greeting — politely given — as encouragement.”

           Legolas huffed and followed his father into the meeting room. Thranduil, Lord Girion, and King Thror had state matters to discuss and it was Erebor's turn to host the gathering.

 

***

 

           Dís, lofted on a wave of happiness, danced into the still-room, where her mother and her ladies were drying herbs and making medicine. The back of the still-room opened onto the only outdoor-like space in the mountain. Sunlight streamed in from the wooden lattices that re-enforced the ceiling while allowing in ample sunlight and soil so that the plants could be grown. The herb garden wove in a circular layout, with paths between the beds of carefully tended and marked herbs. They were the only things that Erebor grew on their own.

           The Crown Princess looked up as her daughter came into the room and sighed. “Dís, you didn't go running after King Thranduil in your play clothes, did you? What must he think of you, going about in that old dress.”

           Dís sighed, completely undaunted by her mother's words. “I had to, Mama. I didn't have time to change. Besides, I look like an Elf Lady in this dress.” She skipped over to her mother. “I was hoping he wouldn't see me, but he did.”

           Her mother groaned softly. “What happened?”

           “Nothing, Mama. He made me come out and greet him formally, then he went away.”

           “So what are you so pleased about?” her mother asked, hanging up another bunch of herbs. Dís continued spinning in happy circles.

           “Prince Legolas was going to ignore me, but his father is much more polite.” She stopped spinning. “Mama, when I grow up, will the elves accept me as their queen?”

            The Crown Princess was rather startled by the question. She knew her father-in-law was considering Prince Legolas as a mate for his only granddaughter, but even he—looking as high as he was—would never presume to marry the girl to the king.

           “Would you like that, my daughter?” she asked Dís. The child nodded.

           “I like his hair, and how tall he is.” She smiled. “My Sindarin must improve. I want to sound like an Elf.”

            She drifted into the garden, humming softly to herself and the ladies in the still-room chuckled. The Crown Princess watched her daughter and shook her head.

            “I was sure she had gotten over her fascination with the Elf-king, but I guess not.”

            “Don't worry,” one of the ladies told her. “She will soon put him out of her mind. Once her formal schooling starts in earnest, she will not have time for such silliness. Besides, who ever heard of an Elf marrying a Dwarrow?”

 

***

 

           Legolas left the meeting room with his father and followed the other leaders towards King Thror's private dining room. It was late, but there was still much to discuss, so they were to have a working dinner. Crown Prince Thrain took a few minutes to go and tuck his daughter into bed. Legolas was annoyed by the delay, but Girion and his father didn't seem to care. The only saving grace to the blond prince was that the tiny princess would be long asleep before they left, and not likely to be waiting to ambush them again.

          Thrain returned fifteen minutes later with a folded piece of paper in his hand. He placed in on the table in front of Thranduil and sighed.

          “Forgive me. The things I do for my only daughter.”

           Thranduil chuckled politely with the other men and slid the paper in with the meeting notes, while Legolas looked down at his lap to school his face to blankness.

          “Alas, I have no daughters of my own,” Thranduil told them. “But I am given to understand that they are quite difficult to say nay to. I will give her missive it's proper consideration.”

          Everyone except Legolas laughed, the food was served, and the meeting resumed. It was well after midnight when King Thror called for a break. Everyone was shown to rooms for the night, and they would start in the morning, refreshed. Thranduil was not surprised when his son knocked and walked into his room only minutes after the servant that had escorted them departed.

         “Father, this really cannot be allowed to go on!”

         Thranduil looked up at his son. “This? I thought the meeting was going rather well. I think it's foolish for Thror not to commission more Black Arrows, but I'll see if I can—”

        “Not that, Father!” Legolas looked annoyed. “This _thing_ with the baby princess!”

         “Thing? You mean her note? Really, Legolas? She's seven years old. No-one but you is taking this seriously. I think it's kind of cute, actually. You were much the same way with your mother when you were her size.

         You didn't want me anywhere near her, because she was going to be _your_ wife, and I just needed to butt out.”

          Legolas flushed and his father smiled at the memory. “After a while, you got over it, and went about your business. Princess Dís' fascination might take a bit longer to pass since she doesn't see me very often, but it _will_ pass. She will turn to other things, and when she is grown, she will marry a dwarf, and think no more of me than I do of her mother.” He eyed his son speculatively. “Unless you are jealous, and wish to follow through on Thror's plan for the two of you to wed?”

         Legolas shook his head. “No! Not at all!”

         “Then stop acting like a spurned lover. That child is no threat to me. Return to your room, and try to relax. Remember son, we will always outlast them. Always.”

       Legolas nodded and returned to his room. Thranduil pulled out Dís' note and opened it. In her childish, slightly wobbly hand, Dís had written as neatly as she could in the common speech:

_'THANC YU FOUR BE ING SO NISE TO ME. I THINC YOU HAV PRETTE HAIR. I AM SORRE ABOUT YUR WIF. I NO YU MUST MIS HER. MAYBE I COULD HELP YU FEL BETER._

_\--PRINCESS  DíS OF ERIBOR'_

          Along the edges of the paper, Dís had drawn a border of flowers and vines and wobbly, heart-shaped clouds. Thranduil chuckled and folded the paper and stuck it back in with the meeting notes. Sometimes, he did miss his wife, but she had been gone so long, he rarely thought about her any more. They were not in love, but they had suited each other well enough that her death was no small matter of indifference. He had genuinely grieved at her loss and the loss to his kingdom. He had lost a friend, the mother of his only child, and the Mother of a Country. He had no-one to talk to any more who would understand him without judgement. No-one to whom he could vent, or with whom he could simply relax.

           He had not really appreciated all the little things that his wife had been to him, which in his mind amounted to something much more solid and lasting than a fleeting feeling of love. He had never truly been in love, and did not miss what he did not know. Their mutual respect and understanding was worth much more to him. She could not be replaced.

           There was no way a small child could or would even begin to understand that, so he took her sentiments in the genuine innocence they represented. Princess Dís would of course, require a proper, written reply before he departed the following afternoon.

 

***

 

           Dís woke the following morning to a note on her breakfast tray.

_'Thank you, Princess Dís, for your kind words regarding myself and my wife. I do indeed miss her sometimes, but it is not sad. I only think about the fun and happy things that we did._

_It is not difficult to be nice to you, as most of the time, you are very well behaved. I hope that you have a lovely morning._

_\--Thranduil, King of the Woodland Realm'_

           Dís let out a happy squeak and hugged the paper to her chest. Still in her pyjamas, she ran down to her mother's room and showed it to her. The Crown Princess read it aloud to Dís, trying desperately to keep from laughing.

          “This is very nicely worded, Dís,” she told the child, handing it back. Dís sighed and hugged the paper again.

          “I'm going to be the elves' queen, Mama. I know it.”

           “Okay, darling. If you say so.” The Crown Princess got up and shooed Dís out the door. “Mama has to dress, and so do you.”

            Dís departed on a happy cloud, and the Crown Princess put her hands over her face to muffle her laughter. The things children liked to fantasise about. Thorin wanted to be king already, Frerin wanted to be the greatest warrior-blacksmith in Middle-Earth, and her daughter wanted to be queen of the Elves.

 

***

 

            Dís spent several weeks swanning around Erebor, humming to herself in Sindarin, and practising looking regal in the mirror. She had her mother's seamstress make her several new dresses that had a very elf-like look to them, and she wore them everywhere. Thror found his granddaughter's antics amusing, her father was indulgent, her mother just shook her head, and her brothers teased her relentlessly. Dís ignored them all, and kept her ears perked for any news and gossip of the elf-king.

          She was delighted to see Thranduil, therefore, when he returned to Erebor unexpectedly, to have a meeting with her father. Overhearing the staff mentioning that he was expected, Dís hurried to her room and changed into one of her new gowns, then raced down to the main entrance, to await his arrival. Pleased to see that Legolas wasn't with him, she then trailed him from the main entrance almost to Thrain's office, ducking behind pillars, and crouching on the floor, behind statues, when the elf-king paused to look back towards her.

           Thranduil was rather enjoying this little game. Dís was terrible at hiding, or moving quietly, and the pale peach dress she was wearing made her a beacon in the dimness of the mountain. He knew this little game couldn't go on indefinitely, so he stopped walking, and turned to confront the child. Dís ducked behind another pillar, and Thranduil walked slowly over to her, dismissing the guards that accompanied him with a wave.

          “Princess Dís. Stand up. This is no way for a royal to behave.”

           Dís flushed, and slowly got to her feet. She stood, head down, looking at her shoes. Thranduil reached down, and raised her chin.

           “Princess, do you have something to say to me? Then you must look me in the eyes, and say it. You are a princess. You do not look down; you do not look away when you speak to people; that is the lot of others.”

           Dís raised her head and locked her gaze with the elf-king for a moment. She flushed again and looked away.

           Thranduil tapped her cheek with one long finger. “Look at me, girl. Now, what is it that you want?”

           “N-nothing,” she stammered. “I-I just wanted to give you my greetings.”

            Thranduil's eyebrow rose. “Really? You could have done that when I arrived. Now, let's try the truth.”

            Dís looked away for a moment, then took a deep breath and drew herself up to all three and a half feet that she could boast.

             “King Thranduil . . . your Majesty . . . I know . . . that . . . well . . . Riston said I shouldn't talk about it . . . but, since . . .”

             Dís trailed off, and Thranduil tilted his head slightly. “Yes? What did Young Master Riston say that you couldn't talk to me about?”

             “Your queen,” Dís said quietly. “I know that you must have loved her lots and lots,” the child rushed on. “But, Mama says that a kingdom needs a king _and_ a queen to . . . well . . . work.”

             Her gaze dropped to the green marble floor. “And . . . well . . . since I'm already a princess . . . well . . . being a queen shouldn't be too hard. Mama's teaching me all about it, and when I grow-up a bit . . . when I'm 9 or 10 . . . we could get married . . . and I can be your queen.”

             Dís looked at him, her tiny face earnest, and pleading. It took all of Thranduil's self control to keep from laughing. Instead, he released Dís' chin, and took a step back. He offered her a smile.

             “That is a very generous offer, Princess Dís, and I thank you for it. I . . . do however, think that it will take slightly longer than one or two years for you to learn to be a good queen.”

              Dís' face fell, and Thranduil put a comforting hand on her hair.

              “Now, I _do_ think that when you _are_ grown-up, which will not be until you are at least 90 years old, that you will be a very great queen.”

               Dís looked up at him, and a slight smiled started across her tiny face. “Could I be the Queen of the Greenwood? Will the elves accept me as their rightful queen?”

              Thranduil laughed quietly, and leaned down to give Dís a gentle kiss on the cheek. He felt her face warm, and when he drew away, there was red splashed across the bridge of her nose and cheeks. He tapped her on the nose.

              “I'll tell you what; you come back to me when you are a grown-up, and if you still feel the same way, we will talk about it then. Is that agreeable to you?”

               Dís nodded and offered Thranduil a huge, bright smile. “Mama says Dwarrowdams get to chose their husbands, not the other way around. And I already like you.”

              Thranduil offered her a polite nod, and started to turn away, but Dís reached up and grabbed his hand. Thranduil looked down at her, shocked that she had touched him. Something cool and metal slipped into his palm, and she turned and ran away, pausing only once to look back at him.

               Thranduil watched her disappear, then opened his hand. Dís had given him a crudely made silver ring, with their names etched around the inside band in Cirth runes. He shook his head and slipped the ring into his pocket.

 _'Strange child,'_ he thought, continuing on his way to Thrain's office. ' _But cute. In her own way.'_

 

***

[206 years later]:

 

              Dís put the last of her hair pins into the glass bowl on her dressing table, and looked at her husband through the mirror, lounging on the bed, with a book in his hands.

             “Thranduil, I've been wondering; why _did_ you decide to marry me? Out of all the beings in Middle-Earth; why me? I'm a dwarf for Mahal's sake.”

              Thranduil glanced up at her, then back down at his book.

              “I am aware of that, my dear.” He dropped a marker into the book, and laid it on the bedside table. “Come here, I want to brush your hair.”

               Dís rose and crossed the room, pausing to drop her robe over the foot of the bed. Once she was settled between his outstretched legs, Thranduil picked up the brush, and ran his fingers through her dark hair.

               Dís closed her eyes and let him work for a few minutes. “I found it,” she said suddenly.

               “Found what?” he asked, not pausing in his task.

               “I didn't even remember it, to be honest. And frankly, knowing you as well as I do now, I must say, it is _astonishingly_ sentimental of you.”

                Thranduil kept brushing. “I do not have the pleasure of understanding you, my dear. Of what are you speaking?”

                Dís grinned slightly, and reached inside her nightgown, between her breasts, and pulled out a small object. Thranduil watched her through the mirror, eyebrow raised.

                 “I am talking about this.” She held up an old, crudely made silver ring. Thranduil frowned at it for a second, then his eyes widened in astonishment, and he reached over, and snatched it out of her hands.

                 “Hey, that's mine! Why were you rummaging through my things?” He demanded.

                  Dís laughed, delighted by his reaction, and turned around, kneeling up between his legs, as she looped her arms around his neck.

                  “I wasn't,” she told him, gleefully. “Glánor told me the other day, that some of your favourite brooches were looking a bit worse for wear. Instead of bothering him about fetching them for me, I decided to get them, and fix them myself. I was looking through your jewellery box,” she glanced at his fist, which was tightly closed over the old ring. “When I saw that.”

                  Dís put her forehead against his with a gentle tap. “I was confused at first, then I saw the runes, and I remembered. And, I will admit, I cried a little.” She kissed the end of his nose, then lowered her head, and gave him a long, slow, proper kiss. Thranduil pulled her closer and it was a long time before she finally pulled away.

                 “It was very good of you to honour your promise,” she told him softly. Thranduil chuckled.

                 “I did no such thing, my dear. As you said, dwarrowdams choose their mates, and you asked me to marry you very politely. How could I have _possibly_ said no?”

                 Dís giggled, then flushed. Thranduil kissed the bridge of her nose.

                “And I thought this was adorable. I love it when you blush. And it pleases me to no end that I'm the only one that can get you to.”

                Dís shook her head. “And to think, _Udad_ wanted me to marry Legolas.”

               Thranduil shuddered. “That would never have worked. And I dread the thought that I would have been in love with my son's wife. What a torment that would have been!”

              Dís laughed and nodded. “We all would have been _most_ unhappy! And I would not have been queen.”

              “Hmm, maybe. I might have abdicated for your lifetime in order to escape my temptation.”

               Dís shook her head. “Nope. Princess Regent, not queen. I wanted to be the _Queen_ of the Greenwood.” She sat back on her heels. “But you know what? I don't care about that much any more. I have other titles I like better.”

             “Such as?” he asked, gently placing the ring on top of the book.

             “Mother,” Dís said quietly. “Gram. Sister. Daughter. Wife.”

             Thranduil nodded, and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

             “I love you, Dís.” She smiled slightly, and Thranduil felt himself holding his breath. He could see it clearly in her eyes. Maybe this time, she'd say it.

             “I know,” she said finally, turning around, and settling between his legs again. He sighed, and picked up the brush again.

 _'Patients,'_ he thought, as he finished brushing her hair, and began braiding it. _'She_ will _say it. In her own time.'_

             He dropped a kiss on her neck when he was finished, and put the brush aside.  “There, all finished.”

             Dís scooted over to her side of the bed and crawled under the blankets. “Good night, husband.”

              “ _Fuin vaer_ , my queen. Rest well.”

             Thranduil smiled at the ring as he put out the light. There was always tomorrow.

 

***

 

The End

 

 

ChibiMethos, 2014

 


End file.
